Discovering Hidden Depths
by Galadriel Morgaine Potter
Summary: Draco is abused by his father, his friends are not to be trusted. When he and Hermione become the Heads at school, will the ardent hatred towards each other turn to something different? DMHG Chapter three is up! Read and Review!
1. Chapter One

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the Harry Potter characters or elements (though I wish I did). They belong to the fabulous J.K. Rowling.  
  
A/N: I hope that if you read this story you like it. Please review, it would make me happy! ( ( (  
  
Chapter One  
  
Draco Malfoy received the letter from Hogwarts the same day his father informed him of how he could make him proud. The letter from Hogwarts arrived first, via a large, brown barn owl that swooped into the bedroom with its wings spread wide. Draco hurriedly tore open the envelope and read a letter, written on thick parchment in emerald green ink.  
  
Dear Mr. Malfoy,  
It is our pleasure to inform you that you have been selected to be one of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry's prefects. You will be informed of  
your duties as a prefect upon arriving at school one the first of  
September.  
Please be aware that the professors have the right to suspend  
your privileges  
as a prefect if you exhibit in any form inappropriate behavior.  
Included in this delivery is a list of books and supplies you  
will need for your fifth  
year at Hogwarts, and your prefect badge.  
Have a good summer!  
Yours Sincerely,  
Minerva McGonagall  
Deputy Headmistress  
  
Draco sneered proudly as he finished reading the letter. He was a prefect. Ha! He only hoped that perfect little mudblood Granger wasn't Gryffindor's prefect. He fumbled with the envelope for a moment until he pulled out a shiny, silver badge. In it Draco could see his own reflection. His blonde hair, framing his face with its pale features perfectly and his gray eyes hiding hidden depths. You could see why most girls couldn't stop ogling at him. He didn't deny to himself that he was good looking, he didn't mind being so. What he did mind was how much he resembled his father. He longed for the day when Lucius Malfoy's hair would turn silver and his face would become so wrinkled that an outsider couldn't tell that he was even remotely related to Draco.  
Draco sighed. Speaking of Lucius, he should probably go and tell him about being made a prefect.  
  
* * *  
  
Draco trudged down the marble staircase in his family's manour. His footsteps echoed and reverberated throughout the house. At the bottom of the stairs he turned down a long, dark corridor and halted in front of tall, black double doors with large silver handles molded into the shape of mouths with thick fangs. Draco knocked, not wanting to walk in on anything, and waited a moment before hearing his father's voice.  
"Come in."  
Draco entered and looked around. Lucius Malfoy's office was in the shape of a semi circle and everything seemed to be made of black marble. It had been a while since Draco had been in here, he had been avoiding it, and nothing had changed.  
"I'm over here," Lucius' irritable voice called.  
Draco spotted his father in the far corner of the room, sitting in a black, leather easy chair, and a book on his lap. He was dressed in his usual attire; black and silver wizard's robes with a black cloak slung over the back of the chair. On the table next to him lay his wand, and a long black cane with an engraved silver M, surrounded by a serpent that was regurgitating six stars. Draco had always been told that the silver stars represented the six most valued Malfoy traits; powerful, proud, malicious, malignant and pure.  
"I'm glad you stopped by," Lucius commented without looking up as Draco approached. "I've been wanting to tell you something."  
Draco nodded. "I have new, too. Today-" He was cut short. Lucius made a noise of disbelief and was suddenly glaring at him with extreme anger.  
"What have I told you about wearing muggle clothing in my presence?!!!" Lucius spoke in barely more than a whisper but revealed his wrath all the same.  
Draco swore inwardly. Damn, how could he be so careless and stupid? He knew of his father's dislike for muggle clothing and here he was, wearing a fitting white shirt and blue jeans. He liked them, but how could he be so forgetful as to wear them in front of his father?  
An enraged Lucius was slowly rising from his chair, the book that had previously been on his lap falling to the floor. He took a few steps towards his son until he was so close that they could feel each other's hot breath on their skin.  
Before Draco could do anything Lucius slapped him with full force. Draco backed away, his ear ringing and a single rivulet of blood trickling down the side of his face. Another slap came, firm and unrelenting. Draco whimpered.  
"You deserve this!" Lucius told him fiercely, pushing Draco to the floor. Draco swallowed, feeling slight pain beginning in his lower back and ardent hatred creeping into his heart. The hatred grew ever deeper as he watched Lucius sit back down, pick up his book and act as if nothing had happened.  
Draco picked himself up, breathing heavily, and wiped blood from his cheek. He wanted nothing more than to curse his father, to scream and swear at him, but he knew better.  
"Now," said a composed Lucius. "You said you had some new?"  
"I've been made a prefect," Draco said, glaring at his father.  
Lucius ignored the glare. "Good, good. I suppose you don't know who the others are, do you? No doubt that smart, little mudblood is the prefect for her house. What's her name? Hermione Grader?"  
"Granger," Draco corrected. "And I'm sure she is."  
He headed toward the door.  
"I'll tell you my news later. I want your mother to hear," Lucius called after Draco's retreating back.  
Draco didn't care about the news. He probably would despise it anyway.  
  
* * *  
  
Draco, now wisely dressed in dark blue wizard's robes, made his way down to the drawing room. He took as long as possible, dreading what news Lucius might have in store for him.  
The Malfoy drawing room was not a particularly pleasant place. It was done up in mostly black and silver, with a black marble floor and some dark green accents here and there. The room was filled with couches and chairs, but the most noticeable thing was the mantle piece above the hearth. It was of black marble and on it were a variety of things, bottles containing dark potions, books of spells both light and dark and various magical objects like clocks and things. The most noticeable thing on the mantle, however, was an eerie sculpture, made of shining silver. A sculpture of the Dark Mark, Voldemort's sign. Draco hated it; all it seemed to do was watch you out of its scrutinizing ruby eyes. The sculpture was one of Lucius' most prized possessions, showing his eternal faith to his master, Voldemort. He spent more time admiring and polishing the sculpture than he did with his own family. However, having a sculpture of the Dark Mark in your drawing room, while putting up the pretense of being against Voldemort, was not the brightest idea. Therefore, Lucius had a secret storage room underneath the drawing room floor, a place where he kept his "suspicious" and "embarrassing" items when certain guest came to call.  
Draco entered the drawing room in time to hear is father shouting at his mother.  
"Narcissa, I forbid you to interfere. This is not-"  
Lucius stopped abruptly as Draco made his presence noticed with a loud, fake cough. Lucius nodded to him to sit down while his mother jumped up to embrace him.  
"Draco, darling! How are you?" Narcissa cooed. She had not seen him for a few weeks as she had been away on some sort of business she never spoke about.  
"Fine, fine," Draco muttered, pushing her gently away. Narcissa took no notice of the spectacular bruise blooming on the left side of her son's face, a result of Lucius' slaps.  
Draco slumped into a velvet-covered chair and looked pointedly at his father.  
"What? You said you had news."  
"You are precisely correct," Lucius put on a simpering smile. "As I am sure you are aware of, Draco, you turned fifteen last week."  
Draco grunted.  
"So, I spoke with my Lord," Lucius continued. "And he informed that you are of an appropriate age to become a death eater. I wish, and so does Lord Voldemort, that you become accepted into our inner circle. It is your chance to make me proud, Draco. Very proud."  
Lucius finished and looked at his son, a younger image of himself. Draco stared stolidly back, gray eyes meeting gray eyes. Narcissa looked timidly from her husband to her son, wringing her hand nervously.  
Draco wasn't sure how to react. His father's statement was still sinking in. This was a shock. Draco had expected, at some point, to be welcomed into Voldemort's inner circle, but not now. It was his Lucius' absolute dream for his son, but was not Draco's dream in the least.  
A flood of emotions boiled up inside him, threatening to erupt at any given moment. He breathed deeply, becoming more irate with every passing second.  
"No!" Draco screamed. Lucius started.  
"What did you say?"  
"I said no!" Draco said it with more vigilance this time, causing his father to let out a small, horrified gasp.  
"I refuse," Draco said after a moment's silence, watching Lucius' face change expressions with some amusement.  
Are you refusing to become a death eater?" Lucius growled with painstaking slowness. "Are you refusing the best opportunity ever presented to you? Do you understand what an honor this is? To be Lord Voldemort's servant should be what you have always been waiting for, and you say no!!"  
Draco nodded his head. Lucius gasped again, this time with rage.  
"How dare you refuse!" Lucius was trembling with fury. "How.dare.you!!"  
He lunged at Draco. Draco swerved. Narcissa screamed.  
"Stop! Stop! Lucius, let him make his own decision!"  
"I will not allow my son to associate himself with mudblood filth!" Lucius snarled, turning to face his wife. "By refusing the Dark Lord's offer he his doing just that."  
"I would rather live with mudbloods and muggles than become a servant of Voldemort! Than be forced to obey someone every second, no matter what they tell me to do," Draco spat.  
Lucius' eyes widened, his fists clenched. He lunged again at Draco, this time catching him by the arm. He gripped tighter and tighter, turning Draco's forearm a brilliant pink. With his free hand, Draco searched frantically through his robes for his wand, before remembering that he had left it in his room.  
Lucius flung his fifteen- year- old son across the room and advanced on him. He began hitting him with all the strength he could muster. Draco curled up in an effort to protect himself, but Lucius was strong and full- grown, easily able to hurt Draco.  
"Lucius! No!" Narcissa was screaming shrilly, trying to pull her husband away from Draco.  
Lucius turned, glaring murderously at Narcissa. He smacked her across the face, leaving red welts on her cheekbone. Narcissa let out a faint cry.  
"That should teach you not to interfere," Lucius snapped, before turning back to Draco.  
Draco gasped for breath as his father continued to hit him. He whimpered, but that only compelled Lucius to hit harder.  
What seemed like hours later, Lucius finally ceased to beat Draco. The only sounds were Draco's ragged, uneven breaths and Narcissa's sobs. Lucius remained emotionless. He could have been wearing the same expression while commenting on the weather.  
  
* * *  
Later that night, Draco examined himself in his room. Dark purple bruises covered his heck, shoulders and some of his chest. His cheek was swollen and puffy and he discovered a long cut on his arm, from where he had been shoved against the corner of a coffee table.  
Draco ignored the stabs of pain throughout his body and slid into his bed. He shut his yes but found that he couldn't sleep. A wavering image of Lucius' face kept appearing in his mind, the epicenter of his thoughts.  
Draco turned over in bed, pulling the sheets closer for warmth. He thought about what his father had said, "It is your chance to make me proud, Draco. Very proud."  
Draco admitted that not long ago he wanted badly to impress his father in any manner. He was young and blinded, seeing none of his father's faults. Now he saw all of Lucius' faults. He would not let himself become like his father, he would not let himself be controlled and manipulated and ordered by someone more powerful than himself, as Lucius as by Voldemort. Draco couldn't have said, at this moment, what side he was on, the dark or the light. All he knew was that he refused to be controlled by a higher being, to be considered lower and weaker. It was then that Draco was hit by an interesting thought. Lucius had always taught his son that the Malfoy's were dominant, powerful and higher than others. He taught him to look down on everyone that was not an equal, and few were equals. In Lucius' opinion, the Malfoy's were the greatest, were undefeatable. Yet, here Lucius was bowing down to Voldemort and obeying his every command. Putting himself below someone else, something he urged his son never to do.  
Draco mused over this thought for a while, with a sort of mild amusement. He, Draco, would never put himself below anyone, least of all Voldemort. Draco gritted his teeth as he thought this. Never, he promised himself before drifting to sleep.  
  
* * * Throughout the summer, Lucius Malfoy's temper worsened. He thought that if he kept pressing  
  
Draco, he might finally give in and become a death eater. Draco had no such plans, and no matter how hard he tried to ignore his father's taunts and bribes; the anger inside him often boiled over.  
  
"Draco," Lucius began one day. "You can always change your mind about my offer, I hope you know."  
Draco glared and looked away, concentrating on an ugly, scarred tree outside the window. He didn't need to ask what offer his father was talking about.  
"If you do change your mind, the Dark Lord has his initiation ceremony prepared," Lucius smirked and turned back to his coffee.  
When Draco remained silent, Lucius started to go on about what happened when you became a death eater.  
"And at the very end of the ceremony, you kneel down before the Dark Lord and he burns the Dark Mark into the flesh of your left forearm." At this point Lucius glanced down at his own arm which held a black image of the mark and then at his sculpture on the mantle longingly, before he continued,  
"Some weaker people might scream while being branded by Voldemort, but death eaters are not weak. We fancy ourselves as brave, powerful and strong. Perhaps this is why you refuse to join. Are you too weak to be a servant of the almighty Voldemort?"  
"I'm not weak," Draco said, and then in an undertone added. "Try me!"  
"What?"  
"I said try me!" Draco nearly shouted.  
"If you wish," Lucius sighed delicately, looking down on the blonde boy in front of him.  
Lucius pulled his wand out of a pocket in his silver vest. A long wand, made of oak, and fingered it lovingly.  
Draco had not idea what to do. He braced himself for what was to come, and thought momentarily of reaching for his wand but didn't have a chance to. Lucius was pointing his own wand at Draco.  
"Crucio!"  
Draco's screams filled the room, it felt like white- hot irons were covering every inch of him and scorching flames were licking his body. The pain he felt was unimaginable. He writhed and squirmed but the pain never ceased or relented. Draco soon found he couldn't scream it hurt so badly.  
Finally, Lucius raised his wand, smirking cruelly. Draco gasped for breath, clutching his sides, moaning in agony.  
"Wha-what..are.. you doing?" Draco cried.  
"Oh, just giving you a small taste of pain," Lucius said mildly. "It shouldn't have hurt much." He grinned evilly and left the drawing room through the double doors.  
Draco rolled over on his back, cursing his father through gritted teeth. His breath came in shallow blasts. He struggled to sit up and found it much too uncomfortable. He lay back down; waiting for the strength that would enable him to stand. Draco didn't know how long he lay on the floor, taking deep, exhilarating breaths, but after a while he sat up. His blonde hair was tousled and his body ached. He grabbed onto a green chair and pushed himself up. He staggered to his room and collapsed onto his four poster.  
"God damn you, Lucius!" He swore into his pillow before exhaustion took over.  
  
* * *  
  
Draco thought that Lucius would have given up on persuading him to become a death eater after the spectacle with the cruciatus curse. He was slightly wrong.  
There was about a week left before Draco would return to Hogwarts. The evening previous to when he was planning to visit Diagon Alley, for school supplies, he was treated to a series of punches, slaps and a few hexes, performed by Lucius. This was followed by an announcement.  
"I am hosting a death eater party tomorrow night," Lucius said. "The death eaters know nothing of your refusal, therefore it would be better if you were not present."  
Draco brightened slightly at this. He wanted nothing to do with the party, and Lucius usually made him participate.  
"Fine," Draco said vaguely.  
"Good, good," said Lucius. "And of course, if you change your mind about becoming one of us, your presence is welcomed graciously." He sneered and walked out of the room.  
Draco sighed. He couldn't wait to go back to school, something he had never wanted before. To be out of his father's grasp (or at least almost out of it), would be a huge improvement.  
  
* * *  
  
Draco left for Diagon Alley early the next day, dressed in simple muggle clothing. Before he went he prepared and drank a potion that hid the purple bruises on his face, neck and arms; he didn't bother hiding the ones on his chest. He didn't wanting anyone knowing what his father was doing to him. His peers would ridicule him and adults would think he couldn't take care of himself, when he knew that he was perfectly capable of dealing with whatever his father threw at him.  
He left a hasty note to his mother, explaining where he had gone, grabbed his moneybag and threw a handful of Floo powder into the marble fireplace.  
"Diagon Alley!" Draco called, stepping into the emerald green flames. He had considered going to Knockturn Alley first, but decided against it. He didn't want to be seen there without his father in tow.  
He also decided that he wasn't going to think about his father today, he was going to try to enjoy himself.  
  
Author's Note: I hope you liked it and that it was long enough. I'll update soon. Please review, suggestions, encouragement, compliments and flames are all welcome(.  
  
Great spirits have always encountered violent oppositions from mediocre minds.  
  
Albert Einstein 


	2. Chapter Two

Chapter Two  
  
A/N: Sorry that it has taken me so long to update, but I've been busy. I have been especially busy reading Harry Potter five three times and had to think long and hard on this chapter so it would coincide with the book. Be warned- This chapter may contain spoilers! I'm really not sure if it will or not so I'm warning you just in case.  
I am so glad that some people reviewed and that the majority of them liked the story! Thank you sooooo much! Also, please tell me what you think of this chapter, it was very difficult to write for some reason.  
  
Everyone thinks of changing the world, but no one thinks of changing himself. -Leo Tolstoy  
  
Draco stood in his compartment on the Hogwarts Express, glaring at the spot where his father had just Disapparated from while watching other students walk happily by the door, waving hello to peers and admirers and good-bye to parents. The only admirers Draco had were the obese, thick Gregory Goyle and Vincent Crabbe; the pug faced Pansy Parkinson and a small gang of burly Slytherins. Draco made it a point though, to conceal how miserable he was by putting on his well-known proud and haughty look and sneering at everyone who dared to meet his eyes.  
He would bet that all the other 15-year-olds had caring, benign fathers who sent them off to school with a new broom and a pat on the back, rather than an old rat like Lucius Malfoy who gave you a slap around the head and a threat.  
"I'll be watching your every move, boy!" Lucius had hissed viciously at his son before giving him a sharp jab in the back with his silver cane in the shape of a serpent.  
Draco knew only too well that his father would be watching him like a hawk the moment he set foot on the train. He hated to do his father's bidding, bowing down to him, but also lived in constant fear of his father's wrath. Draco was torn; he felt a burning desire to deliberately undermine Lucius Malfoy but at the same time feared that if he did he would face consequences unimaginable.  
Draco gave the wall an angry kick and stormed out of the compartment door, Crabbe and Goyle trailing behind.  
  
Hours later, as blue tones of the sky gradually gave way to darkness, Draco sat with his face in his hands, running his fine fingers through tousled hair, brooding over his life. He should have been out patrolling the corridors with the other prefects, but he didn't care. Nothing could make him fell better, even tormenting Potter and Weasley had lost its fun. He was confused and melancholy, on the fringe of something like depression, and it felt as if all his hatred towards everything was becoming twisted up inside him, making him want to heave. The only thing he cared about now was undermining his father, in secret. How he would do it, he didn't know. All he needed to do was something his father would absolutely detest, that would surely make him feel better.  
  
* * *  
  
As swarms of students were leaving the great hall after breakfast, Hermione Granger still sat at the Gryffindor table rummaging distractedly through her bag, searching for a missing book.  
"Hermione, c'mon!" Ron said, checking his wristwatch. "We'll be late for class."  
"I know!" Hermione said exasperatedly. "I just have to find this book, you two go on a ahead of me if you're in such a hurry. Don't worry, I'll catch you up."  
Ron sighed but was prevented from initiating a quarrel by a swift warning glance from Harry.  
Hermione watched them leave the Great Hall and then continued her search for her book. In a few minutes time the hall was all but empty. Hermione stood, still searching through her bag one handedly and hurried out of the hall. It was then that she had the odd sensation that you get when you can feel someone's eyes on your back, the feeling where the small hairs on the nape of your neck stand up. Hermione turned to see Draco Malfoy staring at her from across the hall at the Slytherin table. She turned back and tried not to fathom what Malfoy could have been staring at her about. There was something odd about the way he had looked at her; it was the first time that Malfoy had looked at her, or perhaps looked at anyone, without sneering or glaring maliciously, in fact, he had looked rather helpless and saturnine. Maybe, Hermione thought, I should give him a chance to change his ways. As she found herself thinking that very thought, however, she shook her head forcefully and immediately wished she hadn't thought that. Draco Malfoy was haughty, full of himself and came from a family of assumed Death Eaters; it would be impossible to teach him a different view of the world. Besides, who would care to try?  
  
Draco Malfoy stared blankly at the spot where Granger had been merely seconds ago attempting to clear his mind. He blinked a few times and shook his head, causing a lock of light hair to fall across his brow. He had suddenly known exactly how to spite his father. He would associate himself with Mudbloods, an action he was sure that Lucius Malfoy would positively detest.  
  
* * *  
  
"Do you think Draco suspects something?" Draco could hear Crabbe's deep, guttural voice from right outside the dormitory door.  
"I dunno," Goyle grunted.  
"He seems a bit..er.I dunno, formal around us or something," Crabbe said.  
"I dunno."  
"We should be extra careful from now on, you know. I mean, Draco would be furious if he found out that we were spying on him on his father's orders."  
Goyle sighed and said, yet again, "I dunno."  
"Well-"  
It was at that moment that Draco chose to breeze easily into the room and fall back on Crabbe's four poster bed.  
"How's it going?" he sneered.  
  
Draco knew he would have to watch his steps from here on out. With Crabbe and Goyle on his tail, no matter how thick they were, he would have to move with extreme caution. He couldn't afford to be lax, especially if they were reporting to his father, which undoubtedly they were.  
Draco's main problem now was how to befriend Hermione Granger. First of all, he had no idea how he really thought or felt towards Hermione. He had been brainwashed by his father since he was small and now, when he had come to the realization that his father was a liar he had no idea what to think of mudbloods. It wouldn't be easy, he told himself, if only for the fact that somewhere deep in the depths of his heart he completely and utterly hated Hermione Granger.  
  
* * *  
  
Draco stared hard at Hermione Granger as she entered the Great Hall the next morning with Weasley and Potter in her wake. She talked avidly to them and kept reaching up to brush a long strand of bushy hair out of her eyes. Draco continued to watch as the trio made their way towards the Gryffindor table on the other side of the hall.  
Looking glumly down at his porridge, Draco sighed. He could never approach Granger after he had loathed, teased and put her down for so long.  
  
Author's Note: Sorry this chapter is so short, I just can't think of where it should go next. If you have any ideas at all (even ones you think are dumb) pleeeeaaaaase tell me. I should be able to post the next chapter in a week or two and I will try extremely hard to make it a long one. Also, I want Draco to learn a lesson in this story. Not a really sappy, spiritual one or anything but a simple one. Maybe it has something to do with the quote I put at the top, maybe it's time for Draco to focus on his own faults and not his father's. What do you think?  
  
P.S. Does anyone have an opinion on Arnold Schwarznegger being elected governor of California? 


	3. Chapter Three

Disclaimer: Nope, Harry Potter and all his friends do not belong to me.  
  
Author's Note: Okay- I know I've taken a while to update but my life has been chaos for the past couple weeks. Thank you for your reviews! I absolutely LOVE reviews! I only have about eleven reviews right now and that is very depressing. If you really like this story, keep reviewing. I'm not going to post anymore unless I have a decent amount of reviews! I'm evil, I really am! Anyway, 'nuff said there. I would like to thank all my wonderful reviewers (even if you only reviewed the first chappie).  
  
burgundyred: Thanks a bunch for reviewing and for pointing out my mistake. I will have to add another Malfoy trait to the list unless I want people to think I am incapable of counting! One.Two.Six. Ha ha! Just kidding! I'm pretty sure my teachers aren't that dumb. Anyway, I'm getting way off topic here. Thank you soooooo much for reviewing! Also thanks for the suggestion; it was a good one. I kind of need ideas as I have stumbled across some writer's block. Please keep reading!  
  
Araya Arwen: Thanks a ton for reviewing! Reviews make me happy! I'm glad you liked the whole thing with Crabbe and Goyle- it's kind of a weird idea but I liked it! Hugs and bunnies!  
  
DraCoS*SlyTHeRiN*DeViL: I am really glad you like my story! I'll try and update more often! Thanx! ((((  
  
FelineFire82: Thank you soooo much- reviews are my favorite! Also, on the whole Arnie thing I completely agree. Smiles!  
  
XxLILBaBiEyEzxX: Thanks for reviewing! I hope you keep reading!  
  
Armmonde: Thanks! I'm happy that someone appreciates my descriptions! (  
  
Doneril: Thanks! I'll continue!  
  
Variana Croft: Thanks for reviewing- even if it wasn't your fav story!  
  
Lotrangel-13: Okay.. Er..right.well.I know who you are, too! Ha ha! Please keep reviewing my little groupie! If you don't I shall reveal your real name! Hugs from G.L.B.M.D.Y.M.P  
  
Okay, onto the chapter. But before I go I have to tell you that I couldn't think of a sixth Malfoy trait (if any of you have a good one I'll use it) so I will fix my little boo-boo. There are only FIVE Malfoy traits, FIVE. Okay, I'm done now. Read on...  
  
Chapter Three- Discovering Hidden Depths  
  
It was with much reluctance that Draco signed the list to return to Wiltshire for the Christmas holidays on the Hogwarts Express. There was nothing to look forward to. From the moment he arrived on the platform his two burly "bodyguards", known as Crabbe and Goyle, were immediately replaced by a tall, thin, evil-looking man with sleek blonde hair and cold, intense, unforgiving eyes. Draco was constantly tailed by his father the entire holiday, and was let out of his sight only while he slept. Not only was this frustrating to Draco, but it made him feel like a little boy who didn't have a clue what he was doing. His father treated him like a dunce and never ceased to insult or beat his son.  
The one remote hope that might have made Draco's Christmas much better was that he had a chance to see his mother. However, Narcissa Malfoy was away on a "business trip". When Draco heard this he had to shake of a mad desire to say out loud, Business trip my arse! Draco knew very well that Narcissa had been cheating on her husband for years, though it did not bother him in the least. Lucius had probably done the same to his wife anyway, so why did it matter?  
Draco often lay in bed at night, counting off the days again and again until the time would come to return to Hogwarts. In his great canopy bed with silk sheets he would think, Nine more days. Nine more days. Sometimes he would actually long for his mother. During the day, even when Lucius' wrath came down upon him, he managed to avoid such undesirable thoughts. At night, however, he was extremely vulnerable. Help me fool! He would say to the image of his mother in his mind before shaking his head furiously, ashamed to think like that, as if he were a child rather than a young man of sixteen. I'm a Malfoy, Draco thought. Malfoys aren't afraid to be alone. Malfoys don't cry for their mothers. Malfoy's are fearless. These thoughts did nothing to help his yearning for anything but where he was, what he had and what he was being forced to live with. Every night Draco wished for a way to escape. To escape from his father, from the world, from everything, but his mind remained blank and suspended in misery and self pity.  
  
Most likely the worst day of the Christmas holidays was Christmas Eve itself. Early that morning Lucius roused Draco with a sharp poke from his cane, demanding, "Get up! The Death Eaters are coming. I want to be proud of you, so don't smart off today if you would rather not suffer from my wrath."  
Lucius Malfoy spoke smoothly to his son and left so quickly that Draco didn't have a chance to reply.  
Draco rose out of bed, stretching and yawning. He felt like laughing, however odd it may have seemed. When he heard his father saying, "the Death Eaters are coming" he had involuntarily smiled slightly. The way he said it had made it sound like some kind of warning of alarm.  
"The Death Eaters are coming! The Death Eaters are coming!"  
In fact, Draco knew that if the Death Eaters were really coming, for a meeting, party etc., he was in for an unpleasant time, but he couldn't help chuckling to himself all the same.  
  
In the drawing room later that morning Draco stood before his father. If an outsider had looked in on them it would have seemed that they were having a staring contest. Willing the other to blink first.  
Draco looked at his father's pointed face and then into his eyes, a cold gray that were exactly like his own. Lucius Malfoy looked steadily back, a hint of a smirk etched into his face, as if he were secretly laughing at something.  
"So," Draco broke the silence, "the Death Eaters are coming?"  
"Yes. For a little Christmas party and then a meeting. They are bringing their families."  
"Who's they?" Draco inquired politely, playing dumb.  
Lucius glared at him before continuing. "I expect you to wear dress robes and be on your best behavior. Our guests arrive at five o'clock."  
Draco nodded curtly and headed out of the drawing room, cursing under his breath.  
  
* * *  
  
Draco hated the Death Eaters. He absolutely detested them. And it was just Draco's luck that he got spend Christmas Eve with all of them.  
He spent the first part of the evening greeting the guests at the huge front doors of polished mahogany.  
"Good evening," Draco would say, nonchalantly while telling them in his head that they should go screw themselves.  
In return the men (most of whom were burly, ugly and were wearing a very annoying look of superiority) would make some comment about "becoming one of us soon", or, at best, smirking without saying a word. The little, prissy wives, on the other hand, would coo over Draco, telling him how handsome he was and introduce him to all their ugly children. The last family to arrive was the Parkinsons. Even before Draco could manage one word of a greeting he was steered into the next room by Pansy Parkinson, who was already chatting away excitedly into his ear.  
"Draco, how are you?" she squealed, hooking her arm underneath his.  
"Fine."  
"I've missed you. Have you missed me?"  
Draco had a strong, nearly uncontrollable desire to tell her what he really thought about her, but decided against it. He didn't want anymore trouble with his father.  
"Sooo," Pansy began, drawing out the word so long as if she was going to say something of extreme importance. "I've noticed that you haven't been in the prefect meetings lately so I'll have to break the news to you myself."  
"What news?" Draco asked, wondering if it might actually be something interesting.  
"We're going to have a ball this spring!" Pansy was overwhelmed with enthusiasm. "Won't it be fun? We haven't had one since the Yule Ball in fourth year."  
Draco sighed, he had been hoping for something of more importance. Great, a ball. Hooray.  
"I know it's kind of early and all," continued Pansy, oblivious to Draco's obvious lack of interest, "but, I was wondering if you would go with me?"  
Draco again said nothing.  
"What's up? You aren't acting like yourself," Pansy said.  
"I'm fine," Draco snapped. Pansy looked at him with her mouth open and let out a little whimper, saying, "I thought you liked me, Draco."  
Well, you thought wrong, Draco thought aggressively and left the room without another word.  
  
Draco walked down the now deserted corridor; all the guests had arrived. His footsteps echoed throughout the passageway as he walked down the marble floor towards the drawing room. The Death Eaters were meeting in the drawing room before the party. All their children were most likely already stuffing themselves in the kitchen.  
About one hundred yards away from the drawing room Draco could hear some of the voices within. They must have been arguing about something, as their tones sounded defensive and slightly angry. He could pick out especially his father's disingenuous, cutting accent, Robert Goyle's deep grunts and Macnair's strident drawl.  
Draco neared the keyhole on the doors to the drawing room and bent down to peer through. The keyhole did not offer the best view, but it was better than nothing. Draco could see clearly his father, behind a desk in a black leather chair, glaring at whoever was speaking at the moment.  
"...What the problem is, Malfoy," Macnair's was saying. "It is of no importance to us. We have much better things to discuss. He's your son and it's your responsibility to deal with him. Why should we care?"  
Draco started. They're talking about me, he thought. He leaned closer to the door handle, straining to hear every word as he watched Lucius rise from his chair, obviously upset.  
"Macnair," Lucius began icily, "surely this problem does involve you. We, as Death Eaters of a high position, need to recruit more Death Eaters. As we all know, it is much more difficult to recruit outsiders than our own family members. Outsiders are not allowed to move directly to our rank and often they are unwilling. Our children and other relatives, however, are able to begin as Death Eaters. They are vital to our community. We need their power and pureblood. It is true, yes, that thus far my son has been the only one to object to taking his place among us. But you must be aware that your children could be next in line to be brainwashed by people like Albus Dumbledore. We must take immediate action!" At this point Lucius banged his fist on the table, waiting for some response from his colleagues.  
After a moment a few Death Eaters spoke up, agreeing with Lucius. Then Macnair spoke.  
"Well, still I say that you must deal with your own son. Put the Imperius curse on him. Enroll him in Durmstrang. Do something that will knock some sense into him."  
Draco was outraged. How dare his father sit in there like that, telling the Death Eaters about him? It wasn't right. In his rage Draco must've let out a noise of some sort because suddenly Lucius turned abruptly and said, "What was that?"  
Draco willed himself to move, but stayed put. The door creaked open. Robert Goyle towered above him.  
"Why, Lucius," he said. "It is the subject of our present conversation."  
Goyle grabbed Draco by the scruff of his neck and literally threw him into the room. Draco landed hard in front of his father's desk, rubbing his neck where Goyle's callused hands had been. Lucius stared down at him. He raised his wand hand.  
"I refuse to put my son under the Imperius Curse, now. He may yet be convinced. However, he does need, as Macnair just said, some sense knocked into him. Perhaps this will help."  
Lucius smirked evilly at his son.  
  
* * * When Draco awoke, the last thing he could remember was Lucius saying, "Perhaps this will help."  
He was still in the drawing room, albeit he was the room's lone occupant. Sitting up, Draco felt pains in his lower back, either from being on the floor for hours or from whatever torture his father had put him through the night before. Looking down at his chest, he saw that his robes were ripped in places and that there were many new bruises blooming all over his body. Draco raised himself up slowly and with much effort, making his way toward his room. Gritting his teeth and trying in vain to ignore the pain, Draco concentrated on the one hopeful thought he could think of. Tomorrow I go back to school. Tomorrow.  
  
* * * Hermione Granger sat solemnly at her dressing table, absentmindedly combing her bushy hair. She thought briefly of perhaps using her Sleekeazy's Hair Potion on her hair before she went back to school after Christmas break, but she didn't really want to. She cared about how she looked, yes, but learning was much more important. Why should she fix herself up just to go back to Hogwarts?  
She sat in front of her mirror for awhile longer, contemplating things that a girl like Hermione Granger would contemplate. The latest book she'd read. Her studies and holiday homework. Her challenging N.E.W.T. classes. One of Hermione's favorite hobbies was thinking. It was so peaceful.  
Her mother shortly and rudely interrupted her thoughts, with a shrill call up the stairs.  
"Hermione, are you almost ready? You need to get down here if we want to make it to the station."  
Hermione sighed. From her house it took nearly four hours to reach London if they traveled by Muggle transportation. Her parents forbid her to use Floo Powder. It was very frustrating. Her parents didn't understand the magical world at all. They were kind enough to her, and Hermione knew that they loved her, but all the same, she wished they could understand about the world she was a part of.  
She had tried talking to her mother about her classes. She had told her about Arithmacy and Transfiguration- her two favorite classes. This conversation resulted in uninterested nods from Mrs. Granger and Hermione sensed that it was time to change the subject. She tried talking about Harry and Ron instead. This, Hermione soon found, was an even worse topic.  
  
"Hermione, why don't you have any friends that are girls?" Her mother had inquired anxiously.  
"I do have friends that are girls, mother. It's just that my best friends are Ron and Harry."  
Mrs. Granger sniffed, unsatisfied. "Well, I just don't want anything, you know, happening."  
"Mother," Hermione said impatiently, "We aren't dating or anything- yes, I know that I dated Ron a bit in fifth year, but that isn't happening anymore."  
  
It was rather irritating really; it was almost as if her mother (and her father for that matter) were deliberately disconnecting themselves from Hermione and her education. The one thing they had understood was when Hermione became a prefect. It was probably the only thing they completely understood about Hogwarts and were able to be proud of Hermione for it.  
"Hermione! Come on! And bring your trunk down!" Mrs. Granger was shouting again from the lower floor.  
"I'll be right down," Hermione called back, pulling herself out of her stupor of thoughts. She gathered up some small items on her vanity and shoved them into her trunk. Scooping Crookshanks with one hand and holding the handle of her trunk with the other, she headed downstairs. She had to admit she was very glad to be going back to school.  
  
* * *  
  
Platform One and Three Quarters was crowded. Students bustled around, dragging heavy trunks and waving good-bye to their parents. Hermione had said goodbye to her own parents outside the platform, they had chosen (as usual) to leave her outside the magical barrier that led to the platform on which the Hogwarts' Express waited. To tell the truth, she was secretly glad to be rid of them. They were working over the holidays, so Hermione was more often than not left to amuse herself. The summer holidays were always much better. They went to France oftentimes in the summer, which was at least somewhere besides England and her parents didn't have to work.  
Hermione heard the train whistle as it let out a billow of steam. Hermione had always wondered why the steam was necessary. The train itself worked by magic only, so most likely the smoke was just an illusion for the Muggles' benefits.  
The watch on Hermione's wrist told her that there was only a few moments left to board. She heaved her trunk up the steps and walked down the corridor, searching for am empty compartment. She wasn't in the mood to be social right then. She passed a number of compartments full of students. She saw her fellow prefects, lots of little first and second years and a batch of Slytherins. By the time she reached the last couple of compartments she wished that Harry and Ron were there, she really needed someone to keep her company. Harry and Ron had chosen to stay at Hogwarts though. Harry never went home for the holidays and Mr. and Mrs. Weasley were far too busy with the order to have Ron and Ginny home.  
Hermione stood at the end of the corridor, considering her options. All of the compartments were full except for one, at the very back of the train, which had only one occupant. Hermione couldn't tell who was in there; they had their cloak pulled around them and the hood covering their face. The person might've been sleeping.  
Ever so quietly, Hermione tiptoed into the room and pushed her trunk into the corner. She leaned over the person- whoever it was, they were sleeping. She looked at the person's trunk, for clues, but it was plain black leather with no initials or other engravements. Taking a seat across from the sleeping student, Hermione stared out the window, already deep in thought.  
  
* * *  
  
Draco awoke abruptly to the rattling of the train. He peered under the hood of his cloak and started. What the hell? He thought.  
"Granger," he demanded suddenly, making her jump out of her seat. "What the hell are you doing in here?"  
Draco pulled his cloak off, waiting for Granger to reply. Instead, she just gasped and pointed at his neck.  
"What?" Draco said, moving his eyes from Granger to his neck. All around his neck were great, purple bruises. The bruises led down to his collarbone too. How could he have been so stupid? He was so anxious to leave the Malfoy mansion that he had completely forgotten to cover up the many bruises his father had presented him with on Christmas Eve. Draco swore.  
"How did those get there?" Granger asked.  
Is she actually concerned? Draco thought, though he said, "It's nothing. Just m-my father. Er.y-y-you know."  
Draco could see that Granger was incredulous. "Your father did that to you?"  
"Well, yeah."  
Hermione sank down into her seat, feeling dazed. His father was abusing Malfoy, Malfoy. His rich, Death Eater father who, Hermione was under the impression, spoiled his son to death. Oh my gosh! Hermione thought over and over. Suddenly, Malfoy spoke again.  
"Aren't you going to leave?"  
Just as quickly as it came, Hermione's empathy for Draco Malfoy vanished almost instantly.  
"Well, if that's what you want!" She said angrily. "I'm not doing anything to you! I was actually feeling a bit sorry for you, but I can see you don't want my sympathy!"  
Hermione stormed towards the compartment door. She was just about to pull it open when Malfoy grabbed her arm, hard.  
"Er.you don't have to go."  
  
Author's Note: Hey, sorry to leave you guys hanging but I can't think of anything else at the moment and I really want to post this. I'm also sorry that this story is going so slow, but that's how it's got to be if I want Draco and Hermione to stay in character. Anyway, PLEASE REVIEW! I want more reviews really badly!!!! So keep reading. Also, when I mentioned that Hermione dated Ron in fifth year you could probably tell that wasn't true to the book- according to some. According to me, however, and some of my friends who are also Potty fans, we think that Hermione and Ron were dating secretly in the fifth book. I mean, come on; look at all the clues. Ron gets Hermione perfume for goodness sake! I don't think you'd buy "just a friend" perfume for Christmas. Also, they keep exchanging looks when they think Harry can't see. Of course, those looks might actually be about Harry but still.  
So, all I have to say to you is REVIEW!!! ( ( ( (  
  
erHH H 


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